


Tricks and Treats

by cdra



Series: Kinktober 2019 [12]
Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Bondage, Collars, Djeeta Doms Everyone, Djeeta Is Poly With Everyone, Gags, Kinktober, Kinktober 2019, Leashes, Multi, Orgy, Petplay, Polyamory, Praise Kink, brat taming, everyone's poly but not all combinations are tagged
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-09 11:01:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20993717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cdra/pseuds/cdra
Summary: Djeeta has a few extra ideas this Halloween, beyond just getting Percival into the wolf costume again.(This fic is 2 chapters, thus filling 2 days of kinktober prompts.)[Kinktober Day 12 - Petplay & Day 13 - Collars/Leashes, Gags]





	1. tricks [percival]

**Author's Note:**

> In which Djeeta is up to some shit, Percival won't admit he's a goddamn sub, Vane is _way_ too excited to be a puppy, Lancelot is Dying(tm), and Siegfried show up 15 minutes late with coffee from Sandalphon's cafe.
> 
> This concept got really, REALLY out of hand, so I decided to do it as two chapters and cover two days of Kinktober with it that way, which worked out well because "petplay" and "collars/leashes" were right next to each other on my list. So this one's the Percival POV, and the Lancelot POV will come tomorrow.
> 
> Apparently the Dragon Knights make me write too many words, but I can't be mad at them =w= I also can't be blamed for this when Danchou CANONICALLY puts Percival in a wolf/dog costume every Halloween and Vane CANONICALLY _BARKS_ AT PERCY SOMETIMES. _Granblue just puts these concepts in my hands I swear to fuck_

It’s a Halloween tradition, by now: Djeeta saunters in, costumed up to the nines, with a bundle of fur in her hands and _insists _that Percival put it on, her grin utterly catlike as she sways on her feet. Still, she’s a bit early this year, by several days (Percival’s been counting), and there’s something more than mischievous about the glint in her eyes; he’s got a bad feeling about it.

Percival scrunches his nose, eyes narrowing at the young captain (well, she’s hardly a child now, but still). “Isn’t it a bit early for all this? Halloween’s not even here yet.”

“I got something for everyone, this year!” she chirps, utterly unbashful, and shoves the tail and ears and sleeves in Percival’s direction. “I just got so excited, so I might’ve gotten ahead of myself~ Won’t you try it on, at least?”

He sighs knowingly; there’s not any real avoiding Djeeta once she’s got a plan on her mind, but he can at least avoid falling for her traps if he’s careful. “Haven’t you seen me in these enough times to know that they fit? There’s really no point in trying it on…”

“But,” Djeeta leans into Percival’s chest, looks up at him with her eyes round and not-even-slightly innocent, “I got all dressed up, too… I want to be sure everything’s perfect this year.”

It’s a thin excuse; Percival can practically taste how much so. The hours and days of travel aboard the Grancypher give her too much idle time, it seems, but how much can he even say about it when she’s practically pushed him against the galley wall in her insistence. “You’re bored,” Percival intones calmly, “is that it?”

Djeeta giggles; “Maybe. But you have to put it on before I’ll tell you what I’m planning.”

There’s no avoiding it, he knows. Percival grumbles as he takes the ears and fits them on his head. Djeeta’s eyes glimmer, and her hands scurry down his chest and around his waist to attach the belt and tail there; he holds his arms up in surprise, frowning tersely at how brazenly she touches him. They’re in the hallway, for all that’s holy—sure, everyone on the ship knows how Djeeta is, but that doesn’t ease the prospect in Percival’s mind of anyone seeing _him _of all people be manhandled by her.

“Hey, aren’t you too excited?!” he huffs, snatching one of the gloves—only to pause. It’s different from the ones she’s had before, with more straps on the underside and some suspiciously-placed ring-hooks. Playing at being unfazed, Percival puts it on, and Djeeta immediately helps in tightening the straps on it.

“Hehe, maybe,” Djeeta hums as she fits the other glove, then slides her hands pointedly up the front of Percival’s silk shirt to his neck. He sucks in a breath as something fits snugly around the column of his throat.

“H-hold on,” he stammers, a bit flustered as he realizes what she’s done. The collar isn’t uncomfortable, physically speaking, but there are _implications _to consider, here. “Don’t you think that’s a bit…”

“Perfect,” like she doesn’t even hear his half-hearted protests, Djeeta merely beams at him. Percival almost hates how easily his stubbornness melts, for that—it at least makes him furrow his brow in mild indignance.

As her hand trails back toward her chest, a chain follows her path—a _leash_, he realizes, wide-eyed, in about the same instant as she tugs on it playfully. Percival’s breath catches and he twists it into an irritated huff; Djeeta’s smile somehow grows more feline yet. She pulls away slowly only to pull him in her direction by the leash; Percival grumbles his displeasure, but Djeeta merely beckons him along toward her room, unbothered.

“I’m back,” she calls softly, and Percival goes stiff at the revelation that they are not, in fact, alone in the captain’s quarters. It also clicks what she’d said before—that she got something for “everyone”—and he’s not sure if it’s the sight of Vane on top of Lancelot, the both of them wearing matching accessories to his own, or the fact that those two are seeing him in a damn _collar and leash _that has Percival’s face turning red.

“Oh, Percy! I mean, uh, woof?” Vane chirps first, practically wagging his tail as he unconsciously pins Lancelot to the bed—all Percival can think is how naturally it suits the blond. Percival can’t count how many times he’s thought it, how many times he’s called Vane a mongrel or mentally compared him to an excited puppy—it’s almost uncanny, actually.

“I’ll let that slide,” Djeeta stage-whispers, as if only Vane can hear, and he glances away sheepishly.

Lancelot, for his part, looks at least half-mortified, which Percival sympathizes with. He’s stuck on his back, breathing a little dizzy, looking at the doorway upside-down as he cranes his chin back to see them. His lips part to say something, but then close once more as though he knows better; the fresh pink marks on his collarbones, though, tell enough of a story.

“Have you two been good, while I was out?” Djeeta plays her part naturally, and Percival wonders just how much of the script he’s not privy to. She tugs him along with her easy strides, and Percival gets annoyed at how little he resists.

And by the gods, Vane is a natural; he beams and _barks, _eager like it’s the simplest thing ever to do. Percival feels a pang of embarrassment simply from proximity, but Djeeta simply sits at the bed’s edge and reaches out to ruffle Vane’s hair, which the blond leans into earnestly. “Oh? You stayed just like I told you to? Yes, you did,” she really sounds like she’s speaking more to a dog than a man, but Vane takes to it easily as Lancelot stares on, now sitting up slightly and catching his breath with a dumbfounded look in his eyes. Once again, Percival sympathizes.

Vane whines and paws at the side of the bed, beside Lancelot; the raven-haired knight freezes up, unsure. Djeeta hums soothingly as she runs her fingers through his hair, and Lancelot seems to loosen up slightly. “You’re right, Lancey’s been good, too.” Lancelot sighs wordlessly and lets his eyes fall shut, like he’s acclimating to the insanity of it all.

“Djeeta,” Percival grumbles, eyes narrowed at the young captain. “Are you going to explain your scheming, or—!?”

She cuts him off with a harsh jerk at his leash, bringing him down to eye level with her. Gods, she’s stronger than she has any right to be. “Shh,” Djeeta intones sternly, a harsh contrast to her soft, babying voice from before, “don’t you know, Percy? Good pets don’t talk like people.”

He swallows hard and blinks rapidly; he can’t seem to break eye contact with her, and there’s something about her brazen, domineering words that go straight to his dick. It’s not the first time she’s had that effect on him, but Percival still finds it irksome.

“What kind of…!?” She puts her hand directly on his collar, now, and glares at him hard. Vane whines, a bit bothered by the tension, and sets his chin against Djeeta’s shoulder; she glances at him, and her expression immediately melts back into a smug little smirk.

“I’m sorry, I know; I don’t mean to be so scary,” she reaches up to scritch Vane’s chin with her free hand, still holding Percival’s collar intently. “It’s just that Percy’s such a brat, sometimes, you know? He could learn a lot about how to behave from you.” The idea of it is offensive, that he could learn something from the mongrel, but—Percival opts to hold his tongue, for the moment.

Behind them, Lancelot sits up properly, his eyes wide as he leans onto his paw-clad hands. Other than the gloves and the ears and the tail (distinctly more feline than Vane’s or his own, Percival notes) and the bell-adorned collar, he’s completely undressed, and his posture is bashful for it; he keeps his hands in his lap as if to obscure how he’s a half-hard from whatever Vane was doing before they walked in. Vane, to little surprise, has far less shame despite being similarly exposed—he drapes his arms lazily around Djeeta’s waist, pants audibly as he licks at her neck.

She giggles, endeared, and loosens her grip on Percival a bit, letting the leash slip down through her fingertips—but she doesn’t let him go, not at all. “Such a good boy, so eager—but you have to be patient a little more, okay? Stay,” Djeeta orders in a soft tone, and Vane slouches against her back with a whimper.

Another yank at the collar finds Percival stumbling, nearly collapsing onto the mattress as Djeeta winds the leash tight around the bedpost—he could remove it and get free easily, he knows, but the idea hardly feels like a real option. Still, as if just to be defiant, his hands reach up to tug at the collar and his lips curl into a scowl; Djeeta snaps forward and grabs Percival’s wrists, and Vane flops unceremoniously onto his belly without her to support him, and chuffs in mild annoyance.

“Bad,” she reprimands sternly; Percival scowls harder.

“What makes you think you can just… Hey!” Percival protests, but Djeeta doesn’t listen and simply manhandles him despite her smaller stature. “Listen to me, here… What’re you—eh?!” There’s a moment of limbs tangled and awkward wrestling for control but it ends up with Percival sitting up with his arms behind his back and Djeeta revealing the true purpose of the paw-gloves as she straps his wrists together securely.

“There we go,” she huffs, satisfied with her handiwork as she sits between Percival’s legs. He catches a glimpse of Lancelot and Vane behind her; they look _much _too amused for his liking.

“If you keep being bad, I’ll have to punish you more,” Djeeta adds sternly just as Percival opens his mouth to complain again; it rather effectively steals the words off his lips, and he just grumbles instead.

Vane, having determined he’s been patient enough, barks softly; Djeeta turns toward the pair, and Lancelot quickly straightens his back and wipes the smirk off his lips. Vane’s tongue lolls idly from his mouth, and he looks up at Djeeta expectantly. She hums and strokes his hair once again; “I’m sorry, I kept you waiting, right? And Lancey, too.” Djeeta settles in between the two of them and beckons them toward her; where Lancelot hesitates, Vane does not, immediately settling his head on Djeeta’s thigh with a pleased noise.

Percival wriggles in place as he realizes, in distant annoyance, that he’s entirely intended to just _watch _until he “learns his lesson” or whatever.

Djeeta hikes up her skirt and Vane takes the invitation readily; he follows the line of her thigh down underneath the fabric there, and Percival can’t quite see but it’s easy enough to imagine what he’s doing from how Djeeta sighs softly and arches her back. She purrs more “good boy”s and sets a hand in blond hair as he wraps his arms around her thighs; her other hand beckons Lancelot closer, and he crawls over steadily, far less certain than Vane. There are more soft praises on her tongue as she pulls Lancelot into a lazy kiss; her fingers travel down his chest, over the little red marks Vane left there, until she’s gingerly stroking his cock to full hardness and muttering syrup-sweet words against his lips as he tries, in vain, not to whimper. She pulls him close atop her leg, mumbles something about him being too tense as he buries his head in her shoulder, and Lancelot gasps as if hypersensitive.

It’s a lot to take in, the sounds and the rising smell of sweat and sex, and Percival’s so unconsciously focused on it that he nearly jumps out of his damn skin when the door suddenly opens without as much as a knock.

Lancelot and Vane startle, too, eyes wide; Djeeta just laughs “Oh, I was starting to think you wouldn’t make it,” and Percival thinks he’s going to lose his mind when Siegfried’s chuckling hits his ears.

Of _course _it’s fucking Siegfried. Who else would it be?

“Sorry, sorry… I got held up.” Siegfried speaks so casually, like he hasn’t just walked in on such an unbelievable scene, and Percival realizes dimly that Djeeta really did set this entire thing up just to her liking.

She’s petting Lancelot and Vane again, purring “it’s alright, it’s alright,” as she shifts in place; she makes room for Siegfried beside her, and he takes the seat without much pretense. Percival swears he sees Lancelot jump in his skin; even after all this time, he’s still weak when it comes to Siegfried, isn’t he? Well, it’s understandable, if nothing else.

“These two listen so well—they’re such good boys,” she says proudly, an arm around Lancelot’s waist as Vane rests his head on her knee. “Percy’s a little unruly, but we’re working on that.”

“So I see,” Siegfried agrees easily; his hand snakes up the back of Lancelot’s neck, and Lancelot shivers.

“This is ridiculous,” Percival mutters; he cuts his gaze away from the others, as if that would even slightly hide how flushed he’s gotten or the stiff bulge in his pants. “As if the outfit weren’t bad enough, you really expect me to just sit here and—”

Djeeta is in his lap before he can finish speaking, her hips teasing against his crotch as she frowns sternly. “I said _no words_, Percy; is that really too difficult for you?” He can feel all the eyes on him again; it’s unsettling, but in a way that makes his thoughts melt together uselessly. Djeeta deftly slips something between his teeth, and Percival sputters against the taste of cloth on his tongue a moment too late; she’s already tying the gag behind his head.

“If you insist on being taught the hard way,” she muses as she slides back onto her ankles, her lips curled up smugly, “then we can do that, too.”

Percival tries to protest, but it comes out as a useless whine against the gag. He slumps back against the headboard as if defeated, his gaze fixed on Djeeta; she nods, satisfied, and decides Percival’s lap is a perfect place to sit with her back turned toward him as she sets her attentions on the others.

She knows precisely what she’s doing, like that; she isn’t _ignoring _him, because the way she’s straddling him is _entirely _intentional, but she lets him stew in dissatisfaction as she guides Lancelot into Siegfried’s lap and Vane against Lancelot’s back. It’s like she’s directing a play, putting actors together and plotting out the show they should put on; Percival can’t see a lot of it, past Djeeta’s back, but he can see and hear enough, still.

Siegfried’s voice goes low and husky when he’s turned on—and there’s just something about the casual, easy way he breathes teases and praises that sends Percival’s thoughts spinning uselessly like a weathervane in a tempest. Lancelot’s slim form is pressed between two broarder ones and he fucking _mewls_, which Percival’s pretty sure he’s never heard before, either. Djeeta grinds down against him and slips a hand between her legs as she offers more “good boy”s and “that’s right”s and other near-meaningless assurances—yet, Percival realizes he’s getting jealous of those praises, even if the remaining strands of his logical processes say they don’t really mean anything.

“Vane, could you help me with this?” Djeeta purrs, and it catches Percival’s attention from his distracted haze; she rolls off of his hips, and Percival tries (fails) not to whine at the loss of contact. Vane perks up immediately from where he’d been peppering Lancelot’s back with kisses and bite marks; he barks excitedly, and Percival hates how that hits his veins like lightning, too.

“C’mon, help me get him undressed.” Vane obeys eagerly, panting as he paws at Percival’s waistband. Djeeta undoes the sash around his waist and lets his shirt fall open as Vane strips his lower half; it’s almost embarrassing how his cock instantly strains forth to meet Vane’s hands, but Vane doesn’t touch him, because Djeeta hasn’t told him to do so. It’s maddening.

“Will you be a good pet for me now, Percy?” Djeeta whispers at the shell of his ear; Percival can’t stop himself from whimpering and nodding. “Good boy; behave a little more, and maybe I’ll take the gag out, hm?”

Vane sits back, his cock bobbing eagerly between his thighs as he waits for instruction. Gods, he really does take to this too naturally. Not so far away, Lancelot’s voice arcs pitifully and Siegfried breathes steadily; Djeeta wastes no real time grabbing the oil from her bedside and slicking her fingers thoroughly. “C’mere, Vane,” she hums, directing Vane between Percival’s legs. “You can use your tongue, just don’t let him come yet, okay?”

Vane barks his understanding, and Percival swallows hard. Djeeta’s fingers work their way inside of him, one by one, and Vane’s tongue lavishes his cock in shallow attentions; all his efforts at maintaining his posturing for naught, Percival’s hips jerk toward Vane’s mouth and he fights not to whimper the more he’s touched. Djeeta isn’t too gentle with him, and she doesn’t give him too long to adjust—but she knows he can take it, and she knows that he kind of likes being handled roughly, as much as he refuses to admit it aloud. At the moment, however, he’d be lying if he denied it in his own mind, considering how his body lights up with each too-hard thrust and too-light stroke of Vane’s tongue against his shaft.

“That’s enough, Vane;” she says, curling three fingers hard inside Percival’s ass and making his legs shake. “You’ve been so patient, so good—you can fuck him, now.” Percival sobs into the gag; Djeeta reaches up to remove it as Vane settles hungrily between his legs, panting like he’s trying to put out a fire inside of his lungs.

Djeeta giggles against Percival’s jaw; he only gasps desperately as Vane slowly presses into him. “That’s right, look at you,” she purrs, “you finally get it. It’s not so bad, is it?” He moans some sort of nonsensical, wordless agreement as Vane fills him up completely in one go; if anything, it’s too _much_, but sometimes too much is just right, too. Vane doesn’t waste time, already at his limit as well, and his pace picks up to a punishing one almost immediately; Percival’s voice disobeys him, spilling out in needy, half-sobbed noises. Djeeta cradles his head from behind and strokes his hair gently, _lovingly_ like he isn’t getting railed mercilessly in the same moment, and by her design, no less. At the same time, she touches herself—so at least Percival knows she's not unaffected, from all of his torment.

It really isn’t so bad, though, just like she says. Her praises are for him, now, soft and intoxicating; “good boy, you take it so well, you look so good like this,” and so much more muttered into his hair as Djeeta watches him come undone. Vane’s desperate thrusts and shameless moans leave Percival’s head reeling with a different heat, and the contrast has him nearly drowning. He doesn’t speak, playing his role with ease even as he fucks Percival senseless, but Vane isn’t even slightly quiet even so—not that he ever is.

He doesn’t last long, and neither does Vane; when Percival comes, the room dyes in splotches of black and his legs nearly go numb, his untouched cock twitching and sputtering white as Vane growls and rolls his hips a few last deep, needy times before finishing inside without much of a second thought.

Percival realizes he might have passed out for a moment, considering how he comes to in a half-stupor with Djeeta’s fingers running through his hair, taking the fake ears off in the process. “Good boy, so good,” she keeps muttering softly, and she sets about undoing the leash and the cuffs on his arms. Percival notices dimly that Vane is lying between them, and Djeeta’s scratching his head the same gentle way.

Vane looks up at him, still a bit bleary-eyed, but Percival can tell that the spell on him is broken, in a way. “...Holy _hell_, Percy,” he mumbles, still catching his breath, “That was… wow.” Vane’s not the most eloquent of mongrels, but Percival’s tongue is still too thick to form words anyway, so he just grunts his disapproval as he sinks into the bed, exhausted and not willing to bother staying upright without the bindings. Djeeta giggles and pulls them both close; on the other end of the bed, Lancelot seems to be half-asleep on top of Siegfried, who’s smiling at Djeeta like a satisfied cat.

“...Could just warn me, when you’re going to spring something like this,” Percival manages hoarsely, squinting indignantly at Djeeta despite the tiredness and residual heat in his gaze.

“...You’d have just been a bigger brat about it, though,” she quips with a grin, “You’re easier when you’re not on guard.” Percival just sighs and closes his eyes, knowing she’s right; he supposes he can accept it, if it’s coming from her.


	2. treats [lancelot]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lancelot POV. In which Vane planned this whole thing out with Djeeta because he probably just wanted to be a puppy and valid, Vane.

Sometimes, Djeeta is more of a storm than a person; she crashes her way through people’s lives and leaves a trail of upturned fate and change in her wake. As tough as it can be sometimes to wrap his head about it, or around her actions, Lancelot holds nothing but appreciation for the woman—as a captain, a friend, and perhaps something like a lover, even.

And this moment, while not life-changing or extreme or fateful, is another of those times where he thinks Djeeta might be a storm, or perhaps some god of mischief, because he remembers being called into her room along with Vane, and knowing what that would very likely mean (because Djeeta is simple, despite all her mysteries, and he and Vane both know as much), but he really _doesn’t _remember how they ended up out of their clothes, sitting on top of her sprawling bed as she holds some terribly suspicious accessories up.

Lancelot blinks wildly, like he had stopped existing for a moment only to tune back in to the proper frequency now. He glances to his side; Vane’s adjusting the fake ears on his head with a sort of pensive expression. “So, if I’ve got this right, the idea here is…” Vane thinks aloud, looking up at Djeeta like he both understands everything and nothing at once, “We act like animals, and you’re our owner?”

“Yep, that’s about it!” Djeeta chirps, and Lancelot visibly pales a bit. “Um… earth to Lancelot?” she waves a hand in front of his dumb stare, prompting him to shake his stupor off. “Did you get all that?”

“I… I’m listening, yes.” He lets his shoulder sink a bit and she reaches forward, settling the triangular black ears atop his head. “It… doesn’t sound too hard? I mean, I think I’m used to following your lead by now,” he says sheepishly, and means it a number of ways; he lifts his chin and Djeeta grins as she fastens a thin collar around his pale neck. Lancelot faintly recognizes the jingle of a bell when she adjusts it. “Although I don’t think I’m all that good at… acting.”

“You’ll be fine,” Djeeta laughs a bit; Lancelot’s always a little uptight, even when things get just plain silly around the ship sometimes, despite how he tries to take it all in stride. “I mean, you already look super cute,” she hums easily as she fits the thin, stretchy belt around his hips, so that a long black tail sits just at the small of his back.

“Djeeta’s right—you totally fit being a kitten, Lancey!” There’s not a hint of shame in Vane’s voice, but Lancelot thinks he may die of embarrassment.

“N-not half as much as you’re already like a giant puppy, Vane,” he turns the comment back around on his oldest friend as he presses his lips together, flustered. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear your tail was wagging!”

Vane laughs, only a little sheepish, and sits up on all fours. “So it’s fine, right?” His eyes glint like he’s already having too much fun—Lancelot feels like he might have been privy to Djeeta’s plan before, actually. “You can just follow my example if it seems hard!”

Why _that _is Vane’s conclusion, Lancelot has no idea. Still, he finds himself nodding in agreement with a soft “uh-huh” as Djeeta finishes getting the fur gloves on his arms; when he wiggles his fingers inside of them, he notices it’s a bit difficult to get a grip on anything. He gets the impression that that’s the point.

“Now then,” she chimes as she stands up and brushes the wrinkles out of her skirt. “The first rule, you should both understand, is that dogs and cats don’t speak like people. Make sense?”

Lancelot nods slowly, eyes a bit wide; it does make sense, he supposes. Vane, enthusiastic as ever, barks like it’s the easiest thing in the world, and Lancelot blinks at him, stunned. The blond just looks back, grinning ear to ear, and Lancelot determines that he _definitely _had a hand in this entire scene.

“Good!” Djeeta’s voice is sweet and cheerful, and her magnetism is undeniable. Lancelot shifts awkwardly and Vane leans a little closer to him, studying his expression. “Vane, could you help get Lancey relaxed while I go handle that other thing?”

Lancelot parts his lips to ask what _other thing_, but remembers not to speak and instead just tilts his head as he glances up at Djeeta. Vane seems to know, though, and yips in agreement as he all but bounces in place. She ruffles his hair, careful not to take the ears off as she does so. “Good boy; I won’t be too long,” she assures them before she strides off in a hurry, grabbing an armful of red furs on her way.

It almost clicks in Lancelot’s mind as he watches her leave, but then Vane all but pounces on him and his thoughts scatter with a short squeak. Lancelot finds himself pinned down with ease, Vane’s fur-shrouded hands atop his shoulders as the blond grins excitedly down at him. “Vane,” he starts, but Vane shushes him quickly with a furry finger to his lips.

“Shh, no words, remember?” Vane says in a hushed tone, like Djeeta could hear him when she’s clearly left the room. Lancelot mumbles wordlessly in way of an answer; this is about getting in character, right? So he should take it with the same characteristic seriousness as he does most things—even if his face feels hot just thinking about it.

Vane nods and pants audibly with a satisfied smile; he dives into licking at Lancelot’s neck without any real hesitation. Lancelot stiffens at first, but Vane knows where just to graze his teeth to get Lancelot to melt under him; his blood’s heating up before he knows it, and it’s getting harder to be entirely embarrassed at the sounds Vane’s making against his chest when they come with sincere little bites that make Lancelot squirm and moan softly.

Lancelot shifts his hips and Vane grinds against him, pushing a leg between Lancelot’s legs; that earns a louder sound from the raven’s throat, which Lancelot pointedly keeps from turning into a name or anything else coherent. It’s surprisingly easy, actually, to let go of the tangle of words on the tip of his tongue—the bell around his neck jingles softly when he gasps, and Vane gives a satisfied purr as he sinks his teeth again into the sensitive pit of Lancelot’s collarbone.

The click of the door opening sends a shock down Lancelot’s spine, like he’d forgotten that Djeeta was coming back—he tilts his head back to get a look at her, only for his thoughts to crash into a heap at the sight of Percival with her. And on a leash, at that. So that _is _what the “other thing” was—?

“Oh, Percy!” Vane’s the one to break character this time, but he catches himself quickly. “I mean, uh, woof?” Lancelot’s head feels light, and his breaths come a bit dizzy and uneven; Djeeta forgives Vane’s slip, and they say a few more things but Lancelot doesn’t know that any of it matters. Viewing the two upside-down as he is, it’s a little hard for Lancelot to parse the sight of Djeeta leading Percival toward them on a leash—he’s in the same sort of getup as Vane, although he’s still got his clothes on.

“Have you two been good, while I was out?” does register properly in Lancelot’s fog-laced thoughts; he opens his mouth, but closes it quickly so that he doesn’t answer wrong. “Oh? You stayed just like I told you to? Yes, you did,” she lilts as she sits down beside the pair and scratches Vane’s head, which he takes to eagerly.

Lancelot takes the opportunity to sit up partway, because trying to look at her upside-down is making him dizzy. Vane paws at his side and then Djeeta’s looking straight at him, her eyes glinting with a pleased smile. “You’re right, Lancey’s been good, too,” she hums and reaches out to run her fingers through his hair, next; it’s nice, all things said, and Lancelot sighs softly as his eyes close for a moment, readjusting to the extra presences in the room.

“Djeeta,” Percival grumbles, eyes narrowed at the young captain. “Are you going to explain your scheming, or—!?”

She cuts him off with a harsh jerk at his leash, bringing him down to eye level with her. “Shh,” Djeeta intones sternly, a harsh contrast to her soft, babying voice from before, “don’t you know, Percy? Good pets don’t talk like people.”

Percival swallows hard and blinks rapidly; he can’t seem to break eye contact with her. Lancelot feels a smirk tug at his lips, but tries to hide it—he gets where Percival’s coming from, but there’s just something so very… _Percival _about his irritation, that Lancelot can’t help but be amused.

Djeeta holds the defiant redhead by his collar, and Vane and Lancelot exchange a look. Vane speaks up first, in a low and concerned whine, and leans against Djeeta’s back to get her attention; the tension eases a bit, with a softer (but still smug) expression settling into Djeeta’s eyes. “I’m sorry, I know; I don’t mean to be so scary,” she reaches up to scritch Vane’s chin with her free hand, still holding Percival’s collar intently. “It’s just that Percy’s such a brat, sometimes, you know? He could learn a lot about how to behave from you.”

With Vane properly off of him, Lancelot shifts into a proper sitting position—mostly so that he can cover how aroused he is by putting his hands in his lap, now that Vane isn’t doing that for him unintentionally. As for Vane, he still doesn’t show an ounce of shame, despite how he’s clearly hard and thoroughly exposed—he flops his arms around Djeeta’s waist and mouths at the back of her neck, panting loudly.

She giggles, endeared, and loosens her grip on Percival a bit, letting the leash slip down through her fingertips—but she doesn’t let him go, not at all. “Such a good boy, so eager—but you have to be patient a little more, okay? Stay,” Djeeta orders in a soft tone, and Vane slouches against her back with a whimper.

Lancelot stays, too, and simply watches as Djeeta drags Percival onto the bed by the leash and ties it around the bedpost to keep him there. He should really know better than to play indignant with Djeeta when she gets like this, but—actually, maybe he likes it? Lancelot casts Vane a brief glance as Djeeta moves away, leaving him to flop onto his stomach without her to support his weight, then he turns his gaze back to the way she manhandles Percival.

It’s honestly pretty entertaining; Lancelot has to press his lips together to keep from chuckling, mostly because he doesn’t want any unwarranted attention. He catches the wry show of Vane’s teeth, too—they’re probably thinking the same thing. Despite his protesting, Percival’s soon securely bound in place, with a thoroughly pleased Djeeta sitting across his legs.

“There we go… If you keep being bad, I’ll have to punish you more,” Djeeta notes sternly just as Percival opens his mouth to complain again; it rather effectively steals the words off his lips, and he just grumbles instead.

Vane, having determined he’s been patient enough, barks softly; Djeeta turns toward the pair, and Lancelot quickly straightens his back and wipes the smirk off his lips. Vane’s tongue lolls idly from his mouth, and he looks up at Djeeta expectantly, taking point with ease while Lancelot sits still beside him. 

She hums and strokes Vane’s hair once again; “I’m sorry, I kept you waiting, right? And Lancey, too.” Djeeta settles in between the two of them and beckons them toward her; where Lancelot hesitates, Vane does not, immediately settling his head on Djeeta’s thigh with a pleased noise. Out of the corner of his eye, Lancelot catches Percival’s wide-eyed stare; somehow, it’s the encouragement he needs to shed a bit of his shyness.

Djeeta hikes up her skirt and Vane takes the invitation readily; he follows the line of her thigh down and underneath the fabric there, leaving a trail of wet kisses until he reaches her slit. She’s not wearing any underwear, Lancelot realizes with eyes wide—but, if she knew what she was planning, that would make things easier, wouldn’t it? Vane seems to think as much, purring to himself as he licks at her folds; Djeeta sighs softly and arches her back, settling a hand in his hair as he works.

“Good, that’s a good boy,” she hums before casting Lancelot a beckoning look and reaching toward him; still a bit uncertain, he crawls closer to her. Djeeta’s fingers slip around the back of his neck and she pulls his face close to her own. “You’re being terribly quiet, kitten,” she breathes, a smirk tugging at her lips; “So well-behaved—come here.” Lancelot does, and leans forward into her slow, breathy kiss. The wet sounds of Vane eating Djeeta out and the soft tinking of the bell around Lancelot neck fill his ears; she moans softly against his lips, a wordless sort of praise.

Djeeta’s fingers travel down his chest, over the little red marks Vane left there, until she’s gingerly stroking his cock to full hardness and muttering syrup-sweet words into his mouth as he tries, in vain, not to whimper. “Still tense? That won’t do, Lancey,” she mumbles, eyes lidded and gentle. Her arm shifts to grab him by the waist; she pulls him atop her leg, which barely seems to bother Vane, somehow, but Lancelot’s breath catches in his throat. When she wraps her fingers around his cock once more, he feels strangely sensitive—he gasps a little louder than he means to, sinking into the warmth of her grasp readily.

“There we go, that’s better,” Djeeta mutters into Lancelot’s hair. She shifts her hips to better accommodate Vane’s head; her eyelashes flutter as he wraps his arms around her thighs, holding her steady and pulling her closer. The melty heat of the moment doesn’t last long enough, though; the sound of the door opening has both Lancelot and Vane startle, and they glance toward the sound with wide eyes.

Lancelot’s blood goes cold, but then hot in the same instant. Why on earth is _Siegfried _here? He’s wearing his normal clothes, but—

“Oh, I was starting to think you wouldn’t make it,” Djeeta laughs, a little breathless.

“Sorry, sorry… I got held up.” Siegfried speaks so casually, like he hasn’t just walked in on such an unbelievable scene, and it answers Lancelot’s question: it’s all part of the plan, which is both a sensible answer, and also doesn’t help the squirming feeling that builds in his spine when Siegfried looks him and Vane over.

Djeeta begins petting Lancelot and Vane again, purring “it’s alright, it’s alright,” as she shifts in place; she makes room for Siegfried beside her, and he takes the seat without much pretense. Despite the soothing feeling of Djeeta’s fingertips along his spine, he still almost jumps when Siegfried gets close—he really is too nervous, he realizes, and thus he tries to force himself to settle down.

“These two listen so well—they’re such good boys,” she says proudly, an arm around Lancelot’s waist as Vane rests his head on her knee. Lancelot feels a strange pang of pride in his chest, but he doesn’t make any sound louder than a breath; Vane hums a bit, looking as pleased with himself as Lancelot feels. “Percy’s a little unruly, but we’re working on that.”

“So I see,” Siegfried agrees easily; his hand snakes up the back of Lancelot’s neck, and Lancelot shivers into a sigh. His eyes close a bit as he leans into Siegfried’s touch, but he catches the smirk on Siegfried’s lips before they shut entirely.

“This is ridiculous,” Percival mutters; he cuts his gaze away from the others, as if that would even slightly hide how flushed he’s gotten or the stiff bulge in his pants. Lancelot casts him a slight, pitying glance as Djeeta gently pushes Lancelot off of her lap; Percival _does _know better, doesn’t he? “As if the outfit weren’t bad enough, you really expect me to just sit here and—”

Djeeta is in his lap before he can finish speaking, her hips teasing against his crotch as she frowns sternly. “I said no words, Percy; is that really too difficult for you?” Lancelot and Vane watch as Djeeta deftly slips something between his teeth, and Percival sputters against the taste of cloth on his tongue a moment too late; she’s already tying the gag behind his head.

“If you insist on being taught the hard way,” she muses as she slides back onto her ankles, her lips curled up smugly, “then we can do that, too.”

Percival tries to protest, but it comes out as a useless whine against the gag. He slumps back against the headboard as if defeated, his gaze fixed on Djeeta; she nods, satisfied, and decides Percival’s lap is a perfect place to sit with her back turned toward him as she sets her attentions on the others.

Lancelot blinks, remaining still for a moment as he watches her—Vane seems unsure if he’s allowed to move, either, and Siegfried’s still taking the whole scene in. “Siegfried, can you handle Lancey? He’s still a little nervous, so be gentle.” Lancelot squirms at the comment, looking down uneasily; she’s right, but he feels all the sillier when she points it out.

“Got it,” Siegfried says softly, taking Lancelot’s wrist in hand. Lancelot meets his gaze on accident and _gods_, Siegfried’s eyes get intense when he’s focused—it’s kind of nostalgic, and incredibly intimidating. Siegfried pulls Lancelot into his lap and locks his arms around Lancelot’s waist; Lancelot melts against him with a squeak.

“Easy there, Lancelot,” Siegfried speaks naturally—Lancelot’s kind of thankful he doesn’t use any sort of pet name, because he might combust instantly if he heard that in Siegfried’s ever-serious voice. “You look practically drunk.” Lancelot whines softly as he settles astride Siegfried’s hips; his cock twitches uneasily, and Siegfried pretends not to notice.

“Vane, you get behind Lancey,” Djeeta instructs calmly as she grinds lazily against Percival’s leg. “He’s been trying so hard—I think he deserves to be spoiled a little.” Vane yips an agreement and slides up behind Lancelot readily, leaving him sandwiched between Vane’s hot, bare chest and Siegfried’s clothed one; his head spins a bit from the suddenness of it.

Siegfried chuckles a bit as he glances over Lancelot’s shoulder at Vane, who’s also got his arms around Lancelot’s waist now. Vane lowers his head, but keeps Siegfried’s gaze with his own—subservient, but not intimidated. “Heh, you really are a natural, Vane,” Siegfried muses quietly; despite his level tone, Lancelot recognizes the heat in Siegfried’s words. “Let’s see if we can make this kitten purr, shall we?” He’s too damn casual about saying things like that—Lancelot opens his mouth to stammer something, but he ends up simply whining instead.

With another laugh, Siegfried leans in to claim his lips—Vane mouths at his neck once again at the same moment, gives a whine against Lancelot’s skin as his teeth graze over muscle. Everything becomes too much, all at once—Siegfried’s hands are all over his sides and Vane’s trailing kisses up and down his spine, and Siegfried’s lips are a bit chapped against his and Vane’s furry gloves tickle at his ribs.

Lancelot fights just to breathe, but his voice escapes him as Siegfried shifts his lips closer to Lancelot’s ear. Siegfried’s voice goes low and dark as he says “let me hear you,” and the combination of that and his teeth sinking into Lancelot’s earlobe and his nails digging into Lancelot’s thigh is enough to make the smaller knight mewl pitifully.

“Oh? That was pretty good—definitely catlike,” Siegfried half-teases, but his voice is so damn serious and heat-laced that Lancelot’s mind scrambles up for it.

As Siegfried takes hold of his cock and Vane sucks a dark mark into his shoulder, Djeeta purrs with satisfaction. “That’s right,” she says to none of them in particular at first; her voice is breathy from how she touches herself. “Very good—I think you’re getting the hang of it, Lancey.” Another sharp sound spills from his throat uneasily as he wraps his arms around Siegfried’s neck for stability, feeling overwhelmed. It’s strange how that works, when hardly anything’s been done to him, but his focus is too trained onto Djeeta’s praises and Siegfried’s low, hot breaths and Vane’s whining and it’s just—almost too much, for how little it actually _is_.

It’s a bit of a blessing when Djeeta calls Vane away—Lancelot’s already a trembling mess just with Siegfried slowly pumping his cock and sucking at his neck. One less thing to focus on, yet that has him tuning in all the more keenly to Siegfried’s subtle expressions and the texture of his hand. Lancelot whimpers sharply again as he buries his head against Siegfried’s neck, and his former commander chuckles huskily.

_“Good boy,”_ sounds so different coming from Siegfried than Djeeta—Djeeta speaks so sweetly, her voice lilting even when breathless, but Siegfried’s tone is dark and quiet and, on top of all of that, it’s _Siegfried _saying it. It’s not that he’s tended to be stingy with his praises, but he’s never been the sort to give them without keen intention—knowing all of that piles up into a knot in Lancelot’s chest, and it makes him whine as he grinds upward into Siegfried’s palm.

“Hm? What’s this?” Siegfried mutters as he slides a hand under Lancelot’s rear; “...You came prepared, huh?” Lancelot squeaks and his face burns with embarrassment—it had only made sense, considering the circumstances, to be ready for anything. Which with Djeeta’s track record—being prepared to take her would just be decent planning, but Lancelot can’t explain any of that under his orders, so he’s merely left to squirm.

Siegfried licks a stripe up Lancelot’s neck and pushes his fingers lower still, nudging against Lancelot’s entrance. “I’m not complaining; if anything, I have to commend you for being ready for anything.” So, _so _serious, even when he’s having to brush Lancelot’s fake tail away to slip a finger inside—Siegfried is something else, really, but Lancelot doesn’t have much mind to dwell on it as he’s steadily filled. Two digits slide inside easily, a testament to how he’d already stretched himself—Siegfried hums against Lancelot’s jaw, curling and scissoring his fingers a few times just to be certain that Lancelot’s ready.

Lancelot whines a short “S-Sieg—” before he cuts himself off, biting the sound off from his tongue and morphing it into a stammered whine; Siegfried gives a bemused hum and undoes the front of his pants to reveal his stiff, dripping cock.

“I don’t think she heard that,” Siegfried whispers as he lifts Lancelot’s hips, “but let’s not ruin the moment just yet, alright, kitty?”

With no time nor ability to answer, Lancelot merely cries out as Siegfried pulls him down onto his cock. Ready though he was, in part, it’s still a lot to take in; Siegfried isn’t particularly _small_, and oversensitive electricity crackles up Lancelot’s spine. He wraps his arms tight around Siegfried’s neck and mewls openly as Siegfried steadily bounces Lancelot’s hips atop his cock. Lancelot feels small, despite knowing that Siegfried is just terrifyingly strong, but he lets himself sink into Siegfried’s rhythm regardless, overcome yet oddly comfortable.

Siegfried mutters quiet nonsense into Lancelot’s shoulder as his own hips match pace with the way he has Lancelot riding him; it hardly matters what he says, to Lancelot, only the hot and sultry tone of his voice and just how _close _it is to Lancelot’s ear. The seconds melt together in that hazy rhythm, but it doesn’t last long enough, somehow, before Siegfried’s grip grows harsh and he gasps softly against Lancelot’s skin.

“Almost,” Siegfried sighs breathlessly; he shifts to grasp Lancelot’s cock once more as his pace becomes a bit more erratic. Lancelot’s throat feels dry and he unconsciously sinks his teeth into Siegfried’s neck to muffle himself—Siegfried groans and his hips jerk, at that, and Lancelot feels strangely satisfied with that hint of a rare reaction. Siegfried comes with a low growl seconds later, buried deep inside of Lancelot, and pumps his wrist aggressively as he does—it’s enough to get Lancelot off, too, with a sharp whine into Siegfried’s flesh and a trembling arch of his back.

The melting feeling in his head extends through his flesh in the wake of his climax, and Lancelot’s left to slump uselessly into Siegfried’s grasp; Siegfried breathes steadily as he wraps an arm around Lancelot’s waist, holding him up with ease. When Lancelot cracks one eye open to see what sort of expression Siegfried is wearing, he catches a terribly satisfied look—golden eyes lidded, lips curled into an easy smile—and he hums to himself before letting the exhaustion momentarily take hold and pull his eyes shut once more.

  
In the half-asleep fog of the afterglow, Lancelot hears Percival still, _somehow_, complaining despite everything—but he knows the man well enough to know it’s not a serious complaint. Still, it pulls the softest of chuckles from Lancelot’s chest as he nuzzles absently into Siegfried’s form—it’s comfortable, the lot of them together like this, so he figures he’ll indulge for a moment more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why do the dragon knights do this to me


End file.
